Sober
by GlassQuill
Summary: I'm safe up high...Nothing can touch me... Ginny feels like flying over it all, while the death-eaters rule Hogwarts. Someone is holding her in one piece, and though she knows that it’s wrong she can't fight the numbness long enough away to care.GW/AP
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I'm really sorry that I haven't worked on this story for so long, but it should procede faster from now on.  
I had some problems with my last beta **LittleRedPink**, but now I've found a new one (Thank you **starscribe**!) and I'm pretty sure that the next chapters'll follow soon (or at least a whole lot sooner ^^)  
So, here's the revised first chapter.  
Have fun, the second chapter will follow soon!

Amrei

**Disclaimer:  
**I'm not JK, so I don't own Harry Potter.  
The lyrics are from Pink's song 'Sober' -which I also don't own.

* * *

**Sober**

_I'm safe  
Up high  
Nothing can touch me  
But why do I feel this party's over?  
No pain  
Inside  
You're my protection  
But how do I feel this good sober?_

_Pink- Sober_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Ginny walked down the dark corridor**,** head down, face hidden behind a curtain of red hair. She felt bad. Worse than she did anyway since she got back to school.

Neville had spoken up against the Carrows again. The others couldn't believe how brave he'd become and neither could she**;** it made her feel even more pitiful. Since Harry had taken Hermione and Ron and left without looking back, Neville had become the leader they lacked, and she'd…

Well, what about her? Brave, vivacious Ginny? She'd grieved quietly and looked away.  
Smiling ruefully she turned the corner and climbed up another staircase. After Harry left she had thought her world had just shattered around her feet.. Everyone thought they understood. Little Ginny couldn't handle her crush walking away from her. Here's a cup of tea, just how you like it, and isn't it already a bit better?  
She had to admit, she had been disappointed when no one had known how she felt. It wasn't just giving up the corny dreams she had imagined as an eleven year old. No, she could've handled that. But it was another matter with the very concrete, yet unspoken promises.

Like when he had kissed her before he went away. Long and desperate, so that her stomach felt light and warm.

She really had believed he'd take her with him. Well, obviously he didn't. He said he'd to go alone. Well, of course, it was_ his_ job to rescue the world, after all. She'd understood that, she really had. So he went alone –with Ron and Hermione.

She brushed her fingertips over the cold stone of the wall. After Harry had left she'd felt numb. Not like a knife was thrust through her heart. Not even like something cold had replaced her blood, like they said in the stories. Just numb.

It wasn't even just Harry. It was the realization that she wouldn't change a thing, that she couldn't grab her own piece of this whole mess. She just couldn**'**t be part of things. So in the end she'd stopped trying.

When they all**—**or rather all except the Muggle-borns**—**returned to school she didn't launch into the revolt, as all the others did. Neville had spent afternoon after afternoon putting a brave face on while serving detention, for speaking up against the new school government. She hadn't served one. Somehow she managed to stumble through this whole mess unnoticed**.** Somehow that just made her feel worse.

Ginny looked**, **slightly confused**,** at the tapestry of Wendelin the Weird –currently whistling joyfully while burning on his stake- in front of her. She hadn't noticed that she'd already walked this far.

Probably suppression, she thought grimly. She had hated Slughorn's little partieswhen they were still that**—**parties**—**and not covert Death Eater promotions, but now…

Now she felt ill when she received the invitation. And with how things were at the moment**,** she felt bad anyway. Maybe she was coming down with the flu…

With a sigh**,** she turned left and walked slowly down the corridor, in direction of the music that became louder and louder with every step as she neared Slughorn's classroom. With a last hesitation Ginny opened the door and entered. The room was its usual self—when one remembered past occasions of celebration.

It was far biggerthan it normally should've been –probably because of a fair bit of magic- and already filled to it's last with pupils and guests talking, drinking, and obviously enjoying themselves.

Seriously, she didn't have the slightest idea why Slughorn still insisted that she come . . . she grabbed a glass from the tray of a passing house-elf. Since she didn't feel the slightest need to speak with any of the other persons present she might as well find herself a comparatively quiet corner and enjoy her drink like a wallflower. The sparkling wine _was_ after all quite good…

She cringed as someone called her name. It seemed as if it was already too late to hide….

"Oh and there's young Ginerva! Come here, girl, come over here!"  
Ginny could only bring herself to a rather forced smile before she turned around to face Professor Slughorn.

The old man smiled at her, turning his back to a small group of people.

"My, my, Miss Weasley, why is such a fine young lady as yourself standing there all alone?" He winked at her and gently pushed her to the others.  
"Let me introduce you to a few acquaintances."

Ginny choked on her drink**,** as she looked from face to face. In the far corner of the circle a old man in a rather pompous coat was talking to his two companions, ignoring her completely**.** On Slughorn's right side a slim, somehow shabby man observed the crowd in front of him, but next to him the one and only Marcus Flint glared daggers at her.

"Sir, may I ask what she is doing here?" he asked with obvious rebrobation.

Ginny had to hold herself back from scowling. _The dirty little Mudblood-loving blood__traitor,_wasn't that exactly what he'd originally wanted to say? If she just could tell him what she thought of him and his stupid supremacy right into his arrogant face . . . She tightened her grip on the fragile glass. With an admirable obliviousness, Slughorn looked from one to the other with a cordial smile.

"You must know that young Ginevra plays for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, so I'd think one could say she's a kindred spirit." He laughed deeply.

Somehow, Flint didn't seem to find this too funny. Ginny watched his face freeze, before slowly darkening.

That was as far as she remembered the first moment**. **She wished Slughorn would start one of his infamous anecdotes, preferably before Flint got the chance to start _his_. Funnily enough Slughorn didn't seem to realize this**,** or at least did a fairly good job of pretending not to, since he gave them a last smile before turning his back at them and walking over to the brooding wizard. She couldn't help but gulp another quick mouthful of her drink. From the look of Flint's expression she'd need all the alcohol she could get. Not that she hadn't developed quite a habit in that direction from past absolutely unbearable parties anyway…

Flint cocked his head and a smirk spread over his lips. "So what do you suppose we do with little girls trying to live up to standards they'll never compare to, being the little blood traitors they are?" Ginny could feel his warm breath on her face as he bore down on her, glaring, his smirk turning more and more malicious.

"Tell me," he whispered in her ear.

She could feel her blood run cold, degree by degree, as he came nearer and nearer…

"Marcus, no need to take your revenge for the whole of the Gryffindor Quidditch team besting you out on one single girl. Remember the good, old, vicious days and let her be." A blond man**,** Ginny hadn't noticed before stepped up to Flint and laid a hand on his arm. Flint scowled at him.

"Wouldn't be as if that one wouldn't have deserved it anyway… little Mudblood-whore that she is…" He pushed Ginny in the stranger's direction, causing her to stumble and slosh a good part of her drink on the floor. "Here, I think I'll search another sort of entertainment. As far as I heard the bowl is good." Flint raised an eyebrow inquiringly, before he finally turned around with a bored shrug.

"Have fun," he told the stranger and his tone made her shiver with misgiving.

Ginny kept her gaze down, while bringing her hair back in order with one hand and gripping her glass so hard her knuckles turned white with the other. After all**,** she knew she could have just come out of the frying pan into the fire. Warily she glanced up from under a few misplaced red strands.

The man was in his mid twenties at most, and lean. His gold-blond hair was barely brushing his shoulders and glimmered in an odd shade off red, reflecting the dim light shining down on him from one of the Chinese lanterns, hanging down the ceiling. But what Ginny struck the most was the fact that he was staring down at her with a thoughtful expression she just couldn't interpret.

Blushing**,** she looked away. What had she gotten herself into now? She didn't even know if she wanted to know the answer to that…

Her rather confused train of thought came to a crushing halt**,** when she heard a quiet laugh. The strange man chuckled quietly under his breath, still looking straight at her. He carefully brushed the hand she still clutched her drink with.

"Do you intend to break it? It seems as if you're overestimating the stability of this glass."

Ginny felt the blood rise to her checks as she let him loosen her grip finger by finger.  
"See, the glass is still whole…" she murmured**,** more than just slightly embarrassed. While she watched the blood return to her white hand, she couldn't bring herself to deny the fact that she hadn't been far from breaking it, though. He smiled and she somehow just couldn't shake of the thought that she had missed something.

"Oh yes, it is, silly me." Looking around for a house-elf to come by, he took her empty glass and exchanged it with a full one from one of passing trays.

"So, wilt thou forgive me, or would it be presumptuous, to hope that you, fair lady, would bear my nerve-wracking presence just a little longer?"

Ginny smiled in spite of herself. "I think I could endure it for awhile**,**" she said, taking a sip of her now-full glass of wine**.** A warm and dizzying feeling rose to her head. But still she couldn't remember why that normally would have been a bad idea**;** her head was just spinning too much. She couldn't bring herself to mind though, not when he took her hand and led her onto the small dance floor in one corner of the room, where several pairs were already gathered and were dancing; not when she, giggling, accepted the fresh glasses of wine he handed her; not even when she fell in love with the dancing lights flickering over the ceiling.

Ginny laughed more this evening than she could remember having done the whole term**.** It all blended into a bright mess off light, music, and laughter. For once she felt free of the burden she carried around.

"Like flying up high…" she whispered.

"I beg you pardon?" her mysterious saviour questioned. His voice was near to her ear and when she gazed up at him she saw him looking inquiringly down at her with his slightly blurry green eyes. Light green, with golden sparks, so unlike Harry's clear bottle-green ones and yet so fascinating…

"Nothing**,**" she said, smiling blissfully.

"Come on, come on," Ginny sang quietly to herself, while pulling him to her. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

"You're a strange one," he murmured.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and took a deep breath. The air hung heavy in the overcrowded room. It was full of smoke, smelled treacly and stuck in her throat. "Will you go out with me for a moment? I can't breath in here anymore…"

For a moment he looked puzzled, but then he shrugged. "Sure, why not?" he answered**,** and let her pull him through the crowd. Ginny frowned slightly. She didn't even know why she'd asked him, but was glad anyway.

The corridor was dim, only illuminated by a light on one end. Thus far he'd at least proven he didn't intend to do something to her while she wasn't watching. Maybe she would worry about the calmness that thought gave her**,** or the calculating glance he'd given her just now**,** when her thoughts weren't a mere blur any more. She leaned against the cold wall and watched him close the door behind them, before leaning against the wall opposite of her.

While the room had been heated, the corridor was cold and Ginny started to rub her arms**,** lost in thoughts. Now**,** out in the cold**,** she couldn't remember why she'd decided to wear something sleeveless. She couldn't help but be a bit envious of his coat.

Um, _him_…

"Now that I think of it, what's your name, anyway?" Ginny asked suddenly.

Surprised, he looked up.

"Adrian. Adrian Pucey."

She smiled. _Adrian_…

"That's a pretty name. I'm Ginny—or Ginevra—Weasley."

Adrian chuckled.

"Oh, thank you. You don't have a plain one yourself."

He simply smiled**,** his gaze lingering on her**, **causing more goose bumps to erupt on her arms.

"You're cold, are you sure that you don't want to go in again?" Adrian offered, but Ginny shook her head violently. She couldn't breath in there, she couldn't rest in there, and most of all she couldn't bring herself to leave this hallway where she was alone with him.

"No, I don't. I am not." Ginny said, clenching her jaw to keep herself from shivering.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe a little," she admitted. "But I don't have to go in there again. I don't want to," she added as an afterthought. Lazily**,** she crossed the hall and came to a halt right in front of him. "You wouldn't make me, would you?" she challenged him, probably with more courage than she'd have, hadn't she already drunken . . . Well, she didn't even know anymore how much wine she had had, nor did she really care at the moment.

She was so close to him she could feel the warmth going out from him. She held her hands out to him. "See, not cold at all." She said proudly.

Carefully he took them in his and snorted. "No, they're indeed not, they're freezing." Slowly he loosened a hand out of her grip and stroked her cheek. "You are ice-cold", he murmured.

Ginny shook her head. By now she felt rather warm. At least**,** her cheek was burning… a nice feeling. One she intended to hold on to.

Holding on…

So Ginny rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. He tasted like summer, and better days, and most of all, even if it wasn't so poetic**,** like wine.

And she held on. She held on when he brushed his fingers over the skin of her waist just under her blouse; she held on when they stumbled into an empty classroom down the corridor and even a good while after that. Especially after that.

She held on and she felt a warm, dizzy feeling in her stomach.

It felt like flying up high.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** It really has taken me ages, but here it is: the second chapter!  
As always, thank you **starscribe **for beeing an amazing beta!

**

* * *

  
Chapter Two**

_Ahh, the sun is blinding  
I stayed up again  
Oohh, I am finding  
That's not the way I want my story to end_

_Pink- Sober_

*+*

As fate, or rather the large amount of alcohol she had had the day before, would have it, Ginny was introduced quite violently to a basic principle of the law of gravity: What flies high, falls far.

She wiped the sleeve of her nightgown over her mouth. Her hangover had, if possible, become even more persistent**,** and she had a foul taste in her mouth. To make it even worse**,** she didn't even have hangover-potion…

She sighed. Maybe it was better like this, anyway. She really didn't know if her stomach could take it right now, and after hanging over the toilet for the better part of the night she really didn't feel like taking the risk of letting it start all over again.

Still more asleep than awake, she stumbled out of her dorm. Even if she didn't have a watch at hand she could guess that it was already way past breakfast time. Well, it was Saturday, and if she was lucky she could still grab a bit of lunch after taking a shower . . .

She didn't meet anyone on her way down from the common bathroom (shared by the first-through-sixth year girls) and she was glad for it. For all she knew her dearest roommates were already spreading the tale of her glorious, late, and drunken return. The bathroom was empty**—**something nearly unheard of. Seventh-year girls had their own bathroom, but everyone else had to go through hours of waiting just to have five minutes in the crowded space.

Ginny could hear her stomach growl. The bathroom-miracle could have to do with the fact that everyone else was already having lunch. She'd really have to hurry.

With a few quick steps she crossed the room and began to toss her clothes on the still-wet floor, before stepping under the shower and turning it on. Ginny closed her eyes.

"Mudblood-whore…" she whispered.

The first part wasn't exactly accurate but it seemed Flint had been right about her in one way, at least.

She bit her lip, in a last attempt to stop herself from crying. It didn't help too much.

Sobbing, she leaned against the wall behind her. She wasn't like that. She simply wasn't –_couldn't _be. She had _principles_ and these surely didn't included sleeping with strangers. Not that she really had had any experience with that topic at all up until the night before… Ginny shook her head furiously. That surely wasn't the way she'd planned to get that experience, not that she could recall too much of it as things were.

When she thought back to last night there were actually only single images that kept flickering back and forth behind her eyes and making her head hurt. Now that she thought about it she wasn't even sure whether they had thought to prevent… _consequences_. Her stomach clenched at the mere thought of this possibility.

In an attempt to compose herself by busying her hands, she reduced the heat absentmindedly.

Ginny was sick of herself—or at least more sick of herself than she had been. She wasn't just doing nothing for the cause anymore, _now_ she was sleeping with the enemy…

With a frown, Ginny hesitated in her train of dark thoughts. Since when was she so damn melodramatic? She bit her lip and stepped out of the shower and in front of the mirror, examining herself carefully.

Her hair was dark from wetness, clinging to her translucently pale skin. With all the striking freckles, half frozen lips and dark circles under her eyes, she looked horrible and couldn't bring herself to_ not_ find this circumstance really fitting.

Of course, her conscience had a point: Ginny just couldn't deny that she had been aware of this whole mess before she decided to do it**—**and a quiet voice in the back of her head kept whispering to her the one thing she really didn't want to hear just now:

She had enjoyed it and more than just a bit so. She really would've preferred to lie to herself, but she had to admit that the simple truth was that the evening before was the only time in the last couple of month in which she really had managed to simply_ let go_ for the slightest of moments.

With a disgruntled glance in direction of the mirror she grabbed the next best towel and began to dry her hair forcefully.

Yes… yesterday had been a moment of revival for her, but that didn't mean by any means that she'd let it happen ever again. Harry—she did her best to ignore the sting of guilt when she thought of him—Ron and Hermione risked their lives to try to make the world a better place and even Neville did his best to bring a bit of light back to the forsaken pupils**.** But _she_ had nothing better to do than stare at herself and think about what a horrible person she was.

Huh, it may have happened a lot since last year**,** but up until now she'd really believed that there was still too much of her old self left to let herself dwell over …_a drunken night__**'**__s occurrences_**. **Still, none of that self-confidence mattered in the face of how much she felt like a whore now.

She shuddered, pulling a set of white cotton underwear out of the small drawer in the middle of the shelf units she used. There was still a thin film of water on her skin, but she didn't care enough to hesitate before putting on her clothes.

She'd do the right thing once again. She'd be her old self once more. Even if it was just out of remorse**,** it was due—so why think about the motive more than necessary?

Ginny wrapped her arms around her chest and gave her reflection a last defiant look.

She'd do it.

*+*

Ginny wiped a loose strand off her skirt and slipped into the Great Hall with a quiet sigh. Every time she was in the Great Hall these days the realisation that it wasn't _their_ Great Hall anymore struck her hard. It wasn't that it looked any different, there were still the house tables, the ceiling displaying the sky outside and the hundreds of flying candles. That wasn't what caused her stomach to churn even more. It was just how everything was ordinary… and _all wrong_ at the same time.

There was just this aggrieved atmosphere about it all. It was unusually quiet at all tables**—**yes, she wasn't narrow-minded enough to leave the Slytherin one out of this. Though they were the house which was most suppotrive of the new school administration, a whole lot of them didn't look too happy themselves**,** and they were also missing roughly a quarter of their housemates. Less than the other houses were missing, but still… the Great Hall was remarkably empty, most students sitting in a crowd on one end of their table.

Neville sat in the centre of the Gryffindor table, talking animatedly with the others, who were looking at him as if they just saw the light for the first time. Ginny felt her stomach knot.

If possible, she felt even worse now, seeing someone really doing something, but what made her feel _really_ bad was the quiet voice in the back of her head, pointing out the ridiculousness in the whole situation. After Harry was gone everyone had simply moved on to another 'hero' to free them of all their troubles.

Ginny snorted, but clapped her hand on her mouth directly afterwards. What was wrong with her? It really would've been for the best if she'd handled the whole situation just like them from the very beginning. And now that she'd finally decided to make things right again she really shouldn't have_ those_ sorts of thoughts.

With a smile that seemed rather pathetic even to her**,** she sat down next to the group surrounding Neville, and took some breakfast**,** barely bringing herself to smile at him.

That would have to be enough for now, since she highly doubted that she'd be invited back too warmly from her housemates, when she had just burst in, after having distanced herself so much from_ 'the cause'_ over the last few weeks. Ginny shoved a mouthful of scrambled eggs in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. She still didn't have any idea at all what to tell Neville, since the truth was, for obvious reasons, not an option. That was just her luck**.** Chances to help had been offered to her almost daily, but she hadn't been able to bring herself participate. Now that she'd eventually come around she couldn't do a thing.

Ginny just reached for another bite of the eggs when the table magically cleared itself and she scowled at her suddenly empty plate. It wasn't as if she hadn't known that today wasn't her day**,** but seriously, she couldn't believe that it already was_ that_ late. She'd have to stop by the kitchen later…

Her chances to speak with Neville seemed to decline as well. When she finally looked around, the Great Hall had emptied. The group of Gryffindors around Neville seemed to have gone several minutes ago without her noticing**.**

Depressed at the missed opportunity**,** she rose from her seat—and found herself startled at the lopsidedly grinning boy standing in front of her.

"Ginny, what are you doing here so all alone?"

Not that she hadn't done the same thing at every meal for the last couple of months, but Ginny knew when someone was at least trying**,** so she just gave Neville a halfhearted smile.

"You know, the usual…" She shrugged. "Trying to get a little bit of lunch after sleeping in." That wasn't the entire truth**,** but at least it was close. "I was actually just heading over to the kitchen to grab a bit more to eat. Maybe you'd come along…?" Ginny looked up to him sheepishly. "I actually wanted to speak to you. We haven't seemed to have found the time too often the last months..."

Which was far from the truth and they both knew it. She'd shied away from conversations with him and after some time he hadn't really tried anymore. Neville did look a bit startled but nodded eagerly anyway and walked out of the hall right next to her.

"Of course you know, you can always come to me to talk."

And the really bad part of it was that he actually meant it. By now Ginny wondered if there hadn't been another way to solve things: preferable one that didn't involve her feeling like scum. She made a point of looking at her shoes when they turned to the staircase down to the kitchens. A heavy silence hung between them before she could eventually bring herself to answer**.**

"Yes I know, but you always seem so busy with the others."

Neville came to an abrupt halt and grabbed her by the arm.

"Ginny, not _the others!_ I don't know what it is with you lately, but it's _never_ the others, it's _us_, do you understand me?" he demanded forcefully. "I know that it is probably hard for you, but you're not the only one and I wanted to give you a chance to calm down and let you be, but . . . you came to me and I seriously doubt that you can pull yourself together alone, so I hoped . . . will you come back to us and help or would you rather sulk more?"

Ginny blinked uncertainly a few times. She was aware that Neville had sort of changed under the pressure of war, but that . . . this boy wasn't the clumsy boy who longed for nothing more than his grandmother's appreciation.

She blinked another time and nodded slowly.

"Yes . . . " she mumbled**,** still stunned. "I mean, yes, I want to help."

Neville smiled at her and the stern**-**looking boy**,** or rather**,** man**,** was gone and in his place there was the Neville she knew**—**or at least it looked like it.

"Brilliant. I'll tell you when we have something concrete going on." Smiling**,** he turned around. "I think I'll leave you alone with the house elves**—**Gran said it would be a good idea to lose a little weight and this might be a bit counterproductive**,**" he explained a bit sheepishly.

Yes, that was good old Neville again. She really got on better with this version of him . . . the new one intimidated her more than just slightly . . .

He already was halfway down the corridor when she finally spoke up again:

"Thank you, Neville."

With a dismissive wave of his hand he looked over his shoulder. "No, thank _you_. Welcome back, Ginny." And after a moment he added**, **as an afterthought**, **"In future, please sit with us."

*+*

Her encounter with Neville was half a week back and Ginny could already feel the difference. Now she didn't just dwell on everything but actually _did_ something**—**though up until now she, Neville and the others hadn't really done anything but plan**.** Still, the simple fact that they were ready to do something if necessary already made a difference**.** She found herself able to feel, well**,** not good, the world around her was just too horrible for that, but better.

Up until an hour ago, that was. Now, as she sat in Slughorn**'**s study she couldn't quite ignore the nagging feeling in her stomach anymore. A good week ruined by one of Slughorn**'**s parties—somehow that sounded familiar.

Thank Merlin, today**'**s meeting was just a little gathering with the members of the Slug Club and the author of a popular series of potion books. Ginny wasn't sure if she could've taken another big celebration. After all, things already reminded her far too much of the forsaken evening a couple of days ago**,** and there weren't even any remarkable similarities. Right now she didn't even want to think about what she would do when Slughorn threw another of those parties. Maybe she could take a few sweets from Fred and George's Skiving Snackbox and pretend to be ill...

She shook her head violently and promptly got a few odd looks from the people around her. As far as she could tell she wasn't the only one wishing to be somewhere else. Right across from her, Blaise Zabini just tried to cover a yawn behind his hand and Cormac McLaggen didn't even bother to hide his boredom, every now and then lazily grabbing a sweet out of the grand bowl that stood in the middle of the huge desk they were all sitting around. Even the potions master didn't really seem to enjoy his own speech about the amenities of fresh dragon scales compared to old ones.

The only one who genuinely seemed to enjoy himself was Professor Slughorn, who ignored the bad atmosphere completely, taking his turn talking to everyone for a few minutes. He had just finished talking to Morgana Montague**,** a delicate looking girl with dark red hair, whom Ginny vaguely recognized as a Slytherin she had astronomy with**.** Ginny was so busy trying not to laugh at Morgana's not-so-subtle flirting glances at Zabini, who ignored her quite thoroughly**—**the first just slightly amusing occurrence of the evening**—**that she almost didn't hear Slughorn addressing her.

"So, my dear Ginevra, you seemed to enjoy yourself quite efficiently. I happen to recall you talking with Mr. Pucey," at this he turned around to the others and added, "I mean of course Adrian Pucey, chaser of the Falmouth Falcons**,**" before turning back to Ginny. "Uh, where was I? Oh yes, you two seemed highly entertained." He winked at her conspiratorially. "If I dare to say so, one quite handsome lad, what do you think Ms. Weasley?"

Ginny felt her blood surge to her face and she could've cursed not just herself, but also Slughorn**,** who appeared to have a talent to make other people feel uncomfortable. Another unpleasing circumstance was the fact that Zabini seemed to have taken the name 'Adrian Pucey' as a reason to listen more closely to her talk with the professor. She had made a point of not getting to know Zabini too well during their shared time in the Slug Club, which was motivated in parts by his rather doubtful image and his arrogance, but most of all by the creeping feeling that there was more to him than his shallow appearance**.** Because of this the situation only seemed to worsen when Zabini took an interest in it.

She shook her head vehemently and tried her best to look everywhere but at Zabini.

"I think you exaggerate a bit, sir. We simply talked about Quidditch**—**it's quite interesting to hear about the professional league." Which was a walloping lie. She was quite sure that they didn't exchange one single word on that subject. Neither Slughorn nor Zabini seemed to quite believe her; Slughorn just grinned knowingly and as she risked a glance to Zabini, he starred back at her with a look of pure suspiciousness.

"Aw, yes, young folk…" He gave her another portentous smile and she felt like choking him. At least then this horrible smile would vanish from his face… "Maybe it would interest you anyway to hear thatMr. Pucey will attend my little parties many a time in the near future **—**Even if it's just for the_ fascinating _Quidditch discussions. You see, on the one hand I hope to introduce a few of our more brilliant Quidditch players to him**,**" at this he made a point of nodding to Cormac**,** "and I furthermore hope to be able to thank him by acquainting him with Albert Runcorn, the current chief of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. After his injuries in the last season it might be handy to have an alternative…" With a sudden idea practically glowing in his eyes he looked Ginny over from head to toe.

"But maybe I should mention not only Cormac but also you in this context. As far as I can tell as an ignoramus in such things, you're quite a talented chaser as well." He nodded absentmindedly and a smile crept on his face. "Yes, I think I will…" At seeing her attitude of denial he raised his hand. "No need to deny a thing, Ginevra, it's not as if that's something to be ashamed of." He laughed heartily and turned to the still-reciting author.

When Ginny and the other students were finally allowed to leave three hours later Zabini passed her in front of the door.

"This promises to be an exciting term for Slughorn's meetings, don't you think so Weasley?" he drawled into her ear and Ginny just couldn't help herself. She jerked to a halt and was almost knocked down by Melinda Bobbin**,** who walked right behind her.

Maybe it was just paranoia, but she could have sworn that Zabini had to restrain a bit of laugher as he turned into the corridor.

Damn him**,** and every Slytherin for that matter, be they alumnus, professor or student.


End file.
